


crisis management

by Vintar



Category: Borderlands
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 08:23:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7307494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vintar/pseuds/Vintar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Axton wakes up upside down on the floor. As a well-trained soldier, he takes reconnaissance.</p>
<p>His reconnaissance is this: it’s fucking bright, and he’s got bruises like, everywhere, and he’s pretty sure he’s naked, but he can’t commit 100% to that at the moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	crisis management

Axton has delivered Hammerlock’s sister to Lilith, as requested. Axton has delivered her safely, and she has not been exploded or shot or electrocuted _even a little_ , because he is a good person who can be called upon to collect rogue vault hunters, even if they’re _tremendous assholes_.

“I have class!” he bellows to the bar. “I don’t care what she says, I’m an attractive man and I have, like, loads of class!”

Instead of affirmations and positive encouragement, there’s a barrage of inventive curses. He’s in a dive bar in the Dust, so it’s basically the same. No-one has stabbed him yet, which definitely means he’s in their good graces.

Still, he’s had someone insulting him for like two weeks solid. He wants real positive encouragement! He wants life-affirming compliments! He wants to be told he’s handsome and full of dashing roguish charm!

“FREE BEERS,” he roars, “FOR ALL THE HOTTIES IN THE CLUB.”

“Not you, dude,” he qualifies, as people swarm the bar. “Not you, either–- nope, keep moving-– now you get a beer, congrats on the face-– and you, you definitely need to be drinking right now.”

The stubborn hottie gives him a look. “I’m okay, thanks.”

Axton cocks an eyebrow, then brings an arm up and flexes. “What about… _now_?”

“Oh my god,” the hottie says, which is, like, mega flattering, but then he puts his face in his hands and laughs himself to tears, which kinda is less so.

“Tough crowd,” Axton says, and turns away. “I get the picture.”

“No, wait,” random hottie says, and when Axton turns back he’s got this little smirky smile. “Maybe I’ll take that drink after all.”

 

Axton wakes up upside down on the floor. As a well-trained soldier, he takes reconnaissance.

His reconnaissance is this: it’s fucking bright, and he’s got bruises like, everywhere, and he’s pretty sure he’s naked, but he can’t commit 100% to that at the moment.

When he hears the sound of his turret, though, his eyes slam open.

The dude from the bar is there. Here? This is definitely not Sanctuary, because he isn’t being motion sick right this instant, which means this is probably the dude’s room.

The dude from the bar is talking to his turret. The dude is just… he’s just _talking with Axton’s turret_ , sitting on the floor, nodding along like they’re having the world’s most amazing conversation.

The dude from the bar is looking better for wear than Axton, which is just, like, rude as hell, because he’s made of beanpoles and optimism, but it’s also kind of hot? He’s got tribal tats and is half robot. Why didn’t Axton notice the half robot thing before? He should probably have noticed that.

…On second thought, looking at some of his bruises, he thinks he might have realised at some point during the night. Oh, yeah. That’s… that’s definitely robot fingerprints. They’re kind of distinctive.

He cocks his head and rests his chin on his hand, hitting Mr Robospank with a full-on charm offensive. His hair falls a little into his eyes, he smirks charmingly, he is basically the full package right now.

“Are you about to puke? Please don’t puke.”

“I’m totally not going to puke,” Axton says erotically.

“I was just talking with your robot,” the dude explains. “That’s not weird, right?” Without even a by-your-leave, he _pats Axton’s turret_. Axton braces for the sound of gunfire, but instead his turret seems… happy. She hasn’t turned the dude into a cloud of wet red confetti, at least, which is, like, her way of showing trust and acceptance and happiness. That, or she’s out of ammo.

The dude from the bar pats her like a cat, and she lets out a little electronic weeble. The dude smiles beatifically. Angels weep.

Standing up is out of the question, so Axton commando-crawls forward on the floor, storming up to the dude as fast as he possibly can.

“Uh,” manages the dude.

“Hang on, uno momento,” says Axton, squinting. Reaching out, he takes the dude’s hands, turning them back and forth. “Shit!”

“What?”

“ _Shit!_ ”

“ _What?!_ ”

“We didn’t get drunk married,” Axton moans, and slumps face first onto the ground.

The dude stares down at him. “No, we did not.”

“I could’ve-– I could’ve had you on lockdown!”

“No, you absolutely could not.”

“We could have had a wacky adventure where, like, we tried to get a divorce, but the more time we spent together the more we realised there was actually something there, you know, and eventually-–”

“Okay,” the dude says, “I’m getting you a glass of water. Please stop talking.”

“We can make this work, honey,” Axton says, and falls asleep. Sometime later he rolls over and finds that he’s under a blanket.

“I love youuuuu,” he mumbles.

“No you don’t,” says the dude, but he sets down a plate of toast by Axton’s head anyway, and as far as Axton’s concerned that’s basically the same thing.


End file.
